May, 1945
Poland
The next morning they took a bus to the border village of Kamienna Gora. From there they would attempt to cross into Czechoslovakia, where American Jewish relief organizations had set up centers to assist evacuees.
Although small, with one main street, Kamienna Gora, being something of a mountain resort, had a fine hotel. The rustic interior reminded them of the mountain resorts of Latvia.
The desk clerk scrutinized their papers before permitting them to register. They paid for three nights in advance.
“Are you planning to do any hiking?”
“Yes.”
“Our guides are not yet back on staff. However, there is a young lady whose brother was one of the best. She can at least show you the foothills.”
“That would be fine.”
“Shall I have her contact you tomorrow?”
“In the morning.”
“In any case,” the desk man added, “be certain to carry this with you.” He handed Stephen a card showing that he and Rachel were hotel guests. “We’ve been having Jew trouble here. A large group was arrested last week trying to get across. You’ll be alright with a guide, but you should keep these with you at all times. That way the worst that will happen is they’ll bring you back here.”
“Thank you. By the way, we’ll need some equipment. Boots and a knapsack, that sort of thing.”
“Marie will provide you with whatever you need.”
“What about dinner?”
“Our dining room is not yet open, but the cook makes dinner for the staff. We’ll be happy to serve you in your room.”
Their suite had a sitting room, a bedroom, and its own bath. A basket of fruit and cheese and a bottle of Reisling were on the table in the sitting room. They sat on the couch and nibbled the snacks.
“Remarkable that all this wood survived the war intact,” Rachel observed. The table was antique oak as was the headboard on the bed. The ceiling was carved oak and the floor was oak plank.
“The Nazi generals probably used this place as a hunting lodge.”
Their dinner was brought to them by a thin, older man who introduced himself as Peter the Chef. Delighted to have an audience, he described how he had prepared the stuffed goose as he set the table. The food smelled wonderful, but Stephen was too tired to care. He was happy when the chef left, reminding them as he shut the door to save room for dessert, a cherry tart he had baked especially for them.
The food proved delicious, the goose tender and succulent, the sweet potatoes plump and sugary.
“What should we do about the guide?”
“Go with her. Get to know her. If we think we can trust her, offer to pay her more than she’d make in a year to take us across.”
“And if we can’t?”
“We’ll at least get some idea of where we have to go.”
After dinner they quickly fell asleep. The next morning they ate a large breakfast in their suite and were met afterwards in the lobby by a woman in her early twenties with short-cropped hair.
“I’m Marie,” she said in German. “You are interested in hiking?”
“Nothing too difficult,” Stephen said. “I have a medical condition.”
“I can take you on a trail this morning that’s very pretty. Just the foothills. The hotel will pack a lunch basket for you. We’ll be back by three.”
“Perfect. But we need boots and hiking clothes.”
“Don’t worry about anything. Meet me back here in an hour.”
They took coffee outside on the otherwise deserted sun porch. The air was still cool, but the cloudless sky promised excellent hiking weather. As they sipped their coffee Stephen was reminded of the perfect blue of the sky over the marsh.
“What is it?” Rachel asked. A glow of contentment had come over him.
“Nothing, just daydreaming.”
As she had promised, Marie was waiting for them a hour later. She took them to a storage room in the basement. Inside were cartons of used boots and equipment. “Before the war my family had the concession here. We took out parties of twenty or thirty every day. I’m sure we can find what you need here.”
They gave her their shoe sizes and she dug through the cartons. “Try these.” She handed them boots and thick socks.
The first pair fit Stephen but Rachel’s were too tight. She watched Marie toss aside half-a-dozen others; suddenly her throat filled, and she felt herself beginning to cry. Marie’s back was turned and the noise of her thrashing about blotted out Rachel’s moan of pain. Stephen looked at her in astonishment as she clutched herself in an effort to regain control of her emotions.
The moment passed and she nodded at him.
“Here we go. These have to fit.”
Marie handed her the boots and Rachel slipped them on. They were snug, the tawny leather soft to touch.
“They fit.”
“Good.”
“Would you like shorts or pants?”
“Pants.”
She found them cotton pants and sweaters. They changed and set out for the foothills that appeared to start just a few hundred yards behind the hotel. The path led through a stand of ash and juniper, cool and silent. They walked behind Marie, both carrying their lunch in a knapsack. The path climbed slightly and turned upward through a meadow. Looking back, Rachel was surprised by how far below them the hotel appeared, for it didn’t seem as though they had ascended very far.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Radek?” Marie asked.
“Fine. The air must be good for me.”
They continued to climb on a gradual slope up through pine and fir. The ground was soft, the path layered thick with pine needles that scented the air.
“You two are in better condition than most,” Marie complimented after they had been hiking for several hours. “By now my tourists are usually begging for a rest.” She looked at Stephen. “Whatever your condition is, it’s not slowing you down.”
“It took me months on leave to get this way,” Stephen said. “And we’re used to being outdoors. We were in Tashkent.”
“Where?” From Marie’s expression they could see that she had never heard of it.
“A city in Asia. We spent a lot of time walking because the weather was warm all year.”
“Like Greece?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to there.”
When they stopped for lunch the mountains rose up before them, close enough to observe details of the rocky terrain. The range swept in a band to the east and west. The faces were jagged, ringed with pine that ended in grey rock.
“How high are they?”
“Only sixteen hundred meters. But they are difficult to climb without a guide.”
They opened up their lunch baskets. Packed inside were wurst sandwiches, apples, and cookies. Marie opened a bottle of white wine and a thermos of cold water.
“May I ask you how you became ill?”
“I was in the cavalry. I caught the fever.”
“My father and brother were killed fighting the Nazis,” Marie said. “All because of the Jews. Their banks looted Germany after the first war, otherwise there wouldn’t have been a second one.”
“The deskman told us to be careful as a group of them had been arrested.”
Marie nodded. “The Zionists were taking them across the mountains. They had a Czech guide who came in to get them. They got away with it a few times but we put a stop to it.”
Had she held a gun, Rachel might have shot Marie. But she had only her apple in hand and she took a vicious bite.
“How did you happen to come here? We weren’t expecting tourists until the winter.”
“I’m going to be working in Cracow. A friend told us about your town. We wanted a few days of peace and quiet.”
“You came to the right place.”
Saving the cookies until later, they started back. Marie led them on a different route, looping around to the hotel through mountain meadows that opened onto spectacular vistas of cobalt peaks ranging above green valleys. Marie also proved herself something of a naturalist, pointing out, as they re-entered the forest, the types of trees and plants, animal tracks, and birds. Once she called their attention to it, Stephen and Rachel became aware of the cacophony of twittering and chirping birds high in the trees.
“See there!” Marie pointed out woodpeckers and cardinals.
Below that stretch of forest the path cut narrowly through banks of weed and rock speckled with mountain flowers.
“Look at that one!”
They turned and saw a hummingbird that glided up and down while seeming to remain perfectly still. Stephen couldn’t take his eyes off it, and when Marie and Rachel started forward he followed, his head still turned in the direction of the bird. His foot struck a rock and he plunged forward through the air; coming down on the side of his left foot, twisting his ankle, he felt a sharp pain and stumbled, falling to the ground. The pain in his ankle brought tears to his eyes; but it was only when he saw Rachel’s expression that he realized what he had done.
“It’s only a few more minutes from here,” Marie said. “You can lean on us but be careful not to put any weight on it.”
Merely getting to his feet sent a bolt of pain through his ankle. He put one arm around Rachel’s shoulder and one around Marie’s and hopped forward one step at a time, groaning from the effect of hitting the ground.
When they reached the hotel his ankle was already swollen to twice its normal size. Marie fixed an ice pack for him and instructed him to keep it raised. “You must stay off it completely for twenty four hours. I’m sorry, I should have been more careful.”
“It’s not your fault,” Stephen assured her.
Rachel closed the door behind Marie and locked it. She would have screamed or thrown something but she was afraid the sound might carry downstairs. She was too angry to comfort Stephen. How could he have been so careless! Acting like this was a pleasure trip. He had let his concentration slip for one second and now they might be trapped in Poland for weeks!
Stephen watched the rage move across her like a cloud over the mountains. “Twenty four hours. That’s all I need. The swelling will go down and I’ll bandage it. Then we’ll go.”
Rachel didn’t want to hurt him, but her fear and disappointment goaded her to express her anger. “What if we fail? How will we explain taking a hike into the mountains on that ankle.”
“We won’t have to explain anything. If we fail we’ll be dead.”